“The heroine surrenders control,” Margo said, “but it’s consensual. She wants it.”
“Exactly.” I was still looking at Caelan. “Sometimes it’s a relief to let someone else take over. To trust someone enough to surrender.”
“You think surrender can be empowering?” Caelan asked, his voice low. His eyes hadn’t left mine.
“I think it depends on who you’re surrendering to.” I leaned forward slightly, watching his reaction. “The right person makes it feel safe. The wrong person makes it a trap.”
“And how do you know which is which?”
“You feel it.” I pressed my hand to my chest, right over my heart. “Here.”
More heat and arousal. His eyes darkened, gray going nearly black. His hands gripped the edge of the table as he fought to control his need to claim. Claimme.
I could feel that too. The effort it was taking him not to react, not to reach for me. Not to do something that would scandalize the entire book club.
“The restraint scene in chapter twelve,” I continued, keeping my voice casual even as my heart raced. “I thought that was particularly well done. The tension, the trust. How she gives him complete control over her body.”
“That scene was intense,” Sloane agreed. “Very... thorough.”
“Thorough,” Caelan repeated, and his voice had dropped even lower. “Is that what you look for? Thoroughness?”
“Among other things.” I smiled innocently. “Attention to detail. Dedication. The willingness to take your time.”
His jaw tightened. “Patience,” he said. “That’s important too.”
“Is it?”
“Very.” His eyes held mine. “Some things are worth waiting for.”
The tension between us could have powered a small city.
The opportunity to really test my theory came again when Sam, apparently recovering his courage from across the room, asked loudly: “So what’s the deal with you two? Are you together?”
The room went quiet again and everyone looked at me, holding their breaths. Caelan was watching me with an expression of terrifying hope, so I panicked.
“We’re nothing,” I said quickly. The words came out without thinking, pure defensive instinct, walls slamming up before Icould stop them. “Caelan’s not my type. I only see him as a platonic friend.”
Pain.
It slammed into my chest as if someone had punched me in the face. Hurt and rejection and a feeling that was horribly, awfully close to heartbreak filled my entire being. My breath caught, my eyes stung and my chest ached like someone had reached in and squeezed my heart until it couldn’t beat anymore.
But I wasn’t feeling any of that. Those weren’t my emotions. I knew what my emotions felt like, and this was different. This was external, coming from somewhere else.Someoneelse.
Caelan’s face was carefully blank, his jaw tight, his hands clenched in his lap. His knuckles were white, and a muscle jumped in his cheek.
“Right,” he said quietly. “Platonic.”
The word was empty, hollow, as if he’d scooped out all the meaning and left only the shell.
Oh god.
It was true. I was feeling what he was feeling. And I just… I just broke his heart while he was sitting right next to me.
I dissociated through the rest of the meeting, barely speaking. Someone asked me a question about the book’s ending and I answered on autopilot, the words coming out of my mouth but I wasn’t really there. I was too busy drowning in guilt andconfusion and an impossible, inexplicable connection to a man I’d just publicly rejected.
Caelan’s hurt slowly hardened into resignation. His hope and certainty that he’d been wrong about us died by the second.
The book club ended, and I barely remembered any of it.
